Just Another Night
by amor-remanet
Summary: Remus and Sirius both hate Grimmauld Place, but they have a better chance of coping together. SLASH, RLSB.


**Disclaimer: **Neither Sirius nor Remus belong to me, but I won't do any lasting damage.

Remus sits in the kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, silently accompanied by a weatherworn copy of _Mrs. Dalloway_, a less tatty copy of _The Great Gatsby_ (in case he finishes the Virginia Woolf tonight), and a piping cup of Earl Grey. Ever since the kids went back to school, Molly and Arthur haven't had much reason to hang around, so it's mostly been him and Sirius, Tonks, sometimes Bill (who brings Fleur by every now and then), and occasionally Mad-Eye, but, even when more people show up, October's the worst month, especially for Sirius and himself. Granted, Remus can hardly blame either of them, and he fails to see how anyone could. October was the month that killed Lily and James, orphaned Harry, and split them up for twelve years of loneliness, regret, mistrust, and Azkaban…and, through all of it, he thought that Sirius deserved everything. The same Sirius who loved him then and loves him now, all things considered and accepted…

Trying to interrupt his own thought processes, Remus slams his book shut loudly and snaps his head up. Immediately, he is greeted by the sight of Sirius in the doorway. This would be comforting, were it not for his completely disheveled, bedraggled appearance and the open bottle of Firewhiskey dangling between the middle and index fingers of his right hand. Laughing, he pushes his hair back off his face; he rather needs a shower and some sleep that's induced by something other than alcohol. Remus sighs. Azkaban stunted his development, it's to be expected, but if Sirius isn't going to stop this because it upsets Remus, then he should at least stop it for himself. …If only Remus weren't so terrible at Potions. It's been years since school, he's had _ages_ to improve, and he half expected he would have with no Sirius to take care of him for twelve years, but he still makes messes of the simplest mixtures. He's as likely to poison Sirius as he is to put him to sleep…at least _he_ was always good at Potions, and is still good enough to make Remus a batch of Wolfsbane every month.

Laughing again, Sirius grins and saunters forward; he stumbles slightly, but recovers quickly. Remus can't be sure whether this is a good indication or a bad one.

"_Moony_," he announces with a slight alcoholic slur. "'m _drunk_!"

"I see that," Remus says mildly, leaning on the table, head in one palm. "Why are you drunk?"

"'cos I was _drinking_?"

"I guessed that, Sirius. _Why_ were you drinking?"

"'s like that one Muggle you like said, 'I drank t' drown the pain, but the filthy lil' bugger learned t' fuckin' swim.' Who was that again?"

"Frida Kahlo, the Mexican artist, and you're terribly misquoting her by the way."

"…The one with the monkey?"

"Yes. The one with the monkey…and the quote is, 'I drank to drown my pain, but the damned pain learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good behavior.'"

"Eh…_technicalities_…"

"You still haven't told me _why_ you broke the enchantment I put on the liquor cabinet so you _wouldn't_ get drunk, and then proceeded to get drunk."

Sirius yawns, scratches his head, and shambles forward, stretching out his back and pushing his hair out of his face. He only has to say the word and Remus will cut it for him, but no; Sirius Black needs no haircuts, apparently…just like when they were in school, save the fact that he doesn't wash it as much anymore. At least he puts the Firewhiskey down on the table, and his coordination isn't too far-gone. Both are good signs. He's not _too_ drunk. And neither Kreacher nor Dearest Mother Black are making noise, so he hasn't gone and irritated them while his faculties aren't in order.

"Makes it easier t' sleep," he groans, stretching his back again. "'d have you make a sleeping somethin' or other, but you're shite at Potions, and drinkin' makes it all hurt less…"

"What hurts? Can I help?"

"No, _no_, it's not you. Old stuff, Azkaban stuff…nightmares, and screamin', and I _know_ I _shouldn't_, but…"

"But what, Sirius?"

Thus far tonight, he's been incredibly good about making and keeping eye contact, but, now, Sirius finally breaks their gaze, looking to the floor like a guilty child. He shuffles back and forth slightly, but chokes something back and comes forward. His touch is half-hearted and oddly, almost uncharacteristically soft as he takes Remus's shoulder and pushes him back into a leaning position. Soon enough, Remus finds his lap occupied, his shoulders enveloped in two long arms, and his neck being nuzzled by Sirius's warm, alcoholic exhalations and three-day-old stubble. This is relatively new; it always used to be Sirius doing the nuzzling, but pulling Remus onto his lap. But, alas…all things must pass, and, after Azkaban…Sirius needs Remus to be strong for him, and Remus is more than willing to oblige. He slides his arms around Sirius's waist, and, picking up on the hint, Sirius pulls himself closer.

"An' it gives me hope," Sirius breathes, sounding – ironically – hopeless. "Tha' we can go back ta the way things were…I mean…know we _can't_, but…"

"No," Remus sighs, moving a hand up to Sirius's hair (he definitely needs to wash it, but he needs comfort more). "No, we can't. But I'm here, and I can help-"

"Moony…_Remus_, I _know_ I'm a drunk. I'm a bitter, cranky, possessive old drunk-"

"Thirty-five is _hardly_ old, Sirius, otherwise, we're both ancient."

"You know what I mean…but, yeah…bitter, cranky, possessive old drunk, an' I love you."

"I love you too, Sir-"

"I mean, you're smart, an' funny, an' you put up with me, an' you keep me from kickin' Snape's teeth in, even though th' slimy git deserves it…an' 'm fuckin' _tired_."

"I was just going to say that this would be a lot more romantic if you weren't drunk and exhausted."

"Take me t' bed?"

"Yes, but no shagging tonight."

"Come _on_, Moony-"

"No. You're drunk and you need good sleep, not sex. Tomorrow, all right? But only if you leave the Firewhiskey alone and take a shower."

"'mkay. Promise."

"I love you, Sirius. You do know that, right?"

"Mhm…love you too, Remus."

"…But I can't carry you."

"Can I try for you?"

"…No. You'll throw your back out. Let's just go to bed."

"'mkay."

Sirius yawns again and pulls himself up. Watching him stretch out and groan because of the light and something that makes him grab his forehead, Remus sees it: he really is still a child at heart. He's seen too much to _really_ be a child, and he wasn't quite so acquiescent when they were in school, but…there's still that youthful effervescence, even if it only shows up in fleeting glimpses. Remus also stands, wrapping one of Sirius's arms across his shoulders, in case he needs support; he leans his head against Remus's shoulder. And it really doesn't matter that they both hate Grimmauld Place, or that it's ridiculously unfair that Sirius has to live here when he's worked so hard to distance himself from his family, it just matters that they have each other.

Remus tucks Sirius in with a kiss on the forehead before disrobing and joining him.


End file.
